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Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

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”Finally,” Summer whispers, rolling herself over to lie half-draped over Loki. “I thought I would never be able to touch you.” The pale canvas of his bare skin is far too tempting to resist, and immediately she begins to mark shapes on it with her nails, pale pink patterns that mean nothing save that she is allowed to touch. All the thwarted kisses are pressed into his skin now, along his pointed jaw and down the column of his neck, until she lays her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat and just breathe.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

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Summer can’t even move for long moments, her body already softly aching with that sense of being properly used for one. The warmth of his hand on her stomach is comforting, and she closes her eyes again to simply revel in the throbbing throughout, catching little aftershocks with sharp intakes of breath. the desire to touch Loki, to return the favour in kind, is pretty strong by now, and she’s terribly tempted to burn away the cloth holding her prisoner.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

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His smart mouth earns him a quick flash of anger, a wordless ‘don’t push your luck’ that is quickly drowned under the ecstasy again. Summer’s all but biting through the gag now, eyes rolled back, head thrown back, squirming fit to merge her body with his entire. Everything he does now is good, is blissful in her sensitive state. The soft brush of his fingers over her abdomen is enough, now, to send her careening over the edge again with a heartfelt groan.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

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Summer almost cries when Loki puts the gag back in, but his sudden penetration rips a cry from her mouth, muffled into the fabric. It only takes a few strokes before his rhythm drags her along, the already sensitive flesh instantly responding to the friction. She wants his mouth, but not with the gag in the way; she wants his hands to roam her body but can’t say it. All she can do is writhe with his strokes, hooking her free leg behind his back, and and helplessly slide into the throbbing moan that has always characterised her rising pleasure at this point.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

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iamthefirechild:

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”Gods, no. Just please … please … ” It wasn’t enough, but then as sweet as being fingered is, it’s never as good as the closeness to be had from a full penetrative union. She feels empty now, muscles in her thighs seizing and clenching. “Please, Loki, I want you, inside me, your hands wrapped around me, please …” Summer dares to lower her arms, trying somehow, anyhow, to touch him, yearning forward to try to kiss him, anything at all to sate the desire he’s drawn up to the surface.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

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Summer’s thoughts are entirely a jumble of ‘oh god please’, ‘yes Loki’, and ‘don’t stop don’t ever stop’. Her hands in the silk cord are clenched into fists, and every muscle is straining toward completion. The climax, when it comes, slides down her spine like lightning in slow motion, wringing her back into an arc as every muscle locks and then releases, leaving her trembling and gasping.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

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The sound that emerges from Summer’s throat when Loki finally, finally touches her, even if it’s just a single finger, is a long groan, half relief, half skyrocketing pleasure. When he removes the blindfold, she tips her head up, seeking his face with hazy eyesight, before a flick of his tongue makes her throw her head back again, eyes shut. She makes the most pleading sound she can, desperate for more.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

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His kiss pulls a moan from her, and she can’t help but raise her hips. Then there’s cool air brushing over her skin, and the abrupt contrast of the heat of his mouth, and even around the gag Summer’s crying out. Short, sharp moans, pleading in time with the motion of Loki’s tongue, hips pressing. She desperately wants more motion, even speech, but she’s utterly helpless, back arching into Loki’s skilled hands and mouth.

Kitty, kitty

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

iamthefirechild:

mischief-maker-loki:

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Every touch causes her to twitch at the surprise of it. His voice is like a lifeline, something to cling to, and she can’t help her head turning to try to follow it. She wants to say his name, wants to respond, and has no idea how one does so, bound up as she is. The best she can do is a whimper.

“One day,” Loki murmurs as he gently lowers her onto her back, situating her bound hands above her head so he can get at her abdomen, “you will finally believe when I, and others, say you are beautiful. I could watch you all day, writhing at my touch.” He slowly lifts her shirt, just to expose her stomach, caressing the fair skin there. Loki leans in and kisses her through the gag. His touches remain more or less innocent, simply getting her used to feeling him on her skin.

There’s no reason Loki’s hands on her skin should feel so erotic, but they do. Is it because she is helpless to his touch? Is it something in his voice? It’s a glorious voice, made more so by her focus on it now; if the velvet binding her eyes had a sound it would be his voice. The muscles in her stomach twitch under his cool hands, and she can’t help arching her back into the touch.

Slowly, Loki’s lips move down Summer’s neck. He groans softly as she arches against him, pressing her hip against the leather containing his steel hard length. The god trails hot kisses down her collarbone and across the swell of her breasts, though never moving under the fabric of her shirt. He has many more hours still, and he seems perfectly content to take his time and kiss every inch of her skin.

He looks up as he moves to kiss across her stomach while his hand begins an exploration of her thighs. Once again, he remains respectful and doesn’t touch where she expects except for a few accidental brushes of his fingertips. “Darling, beautiful Summer…” Loki pauses, sighing a little and blowing lightly on her stomach, “even though you can’t speak… I don’t want you to hold back. I want to hear every whimper and sigh… And don’t worry about the fire. I won’t be harmed by it. I want you to relax completely.”

Summer wails, pitifully and low in her throat. Relax? How can she relax? With his hands, his voice, she can’t see or move herself … determinedly she forces her muscles to loosen and blows her breath out. Every ‘accidental brush’ induces a whimper, his breath across her skin a sighing sob. She wants, and he’s teasing, and she’s helpless. Trying to hold a picture of the scene in her mind, she reaches out with her feet, trying to lock Loki in with her legs.

Loki laughs as she locks her legs around his shoulders, prompting him to push her thighs wide as he moves back up her body. “You can feel it, how much I want you. You feel my emotions…” He arches his hips against her, pressing himself against her in slow circles. One hand moves up to push her shirt all the way up. Now exposed to his view, he gazes down on her newly revealed flesh before letting his lips explore it.

‘God, yes,’ is all she can think, starting to writhe under his touch again. The pun makes her giggle, but he has a point — well more than one point if she’s honest — and she lets him feel her desire, her amusement, even while she’s starting to moan more desperately. Untwining her feet, she haphazardly tries to tickle him a bit, but her concentration is totally disrupted by what he’s doing to her.


Loki groans as her emotions hit him like a freight train. “A little warning next time… I’d like this to last for a while.” He chuckles as she tries to tickle him, making him squirm on top of her. He regains the upper hand rather quickly though, finally putting his hands somewhere they definitely don’t belong. He cups and squeezes her breasts through her bra, his thumbs flicking over her nipples.

“So beautiful…” he almost growls. His head lowers as he pulls down the fabric of her bra. Hungrily, he suckles the peak of her nipple, emerald eyes looking up at her, smoldering intently.

The shock when he caresses her breasts is breathtaking. It’s slowly becoming less ‘where is he I’ve nothing to go on’ and more ‘please yes finally’, but it’s still shock, still pulls goosebumps from her flesh and sends a shiver down her body. She wants desperately to touch him in return, and writhes under his hands, only half-conscious of what she’s doing. A wail escapes her throat at the touch of his mouth on bare skin.